


drive my Porsche means I love you

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Jackson's Porsche, M/M, Marriage, Stackson Week, beer pong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson doesn't let anyone drive his Porsche, until he hands his keys to Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drive my Porsche means I love you

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Stackson week on tumblr, in response to some headcanon from stilinskiwhittemores about Jackson and his Porsche. It was fun! And of course, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

They kiss for the first time in the middle of a frat party spring semester, after a series of drinking games that leave Stiles feeling like the room is spinning and his judgement has flown. They’ve just finished a round of beer pong—won the game, for whatever that means in _beer pong_ —and Stiles grabs Jackson and kisses him.

It’s a big, wet, noisy smack on the lips, and he honestly doesn’t expect anything to come of it.

Yeah, Jackson’s hot. He’s also kind of an asshole, fun to argue with, and well, straight.

Or maybe not so straight.

They end up sitting on the roof of the front porch, staring at the full moon and exploring each other’s tonsils. It’s not much more than hours of kissing, and Stiles figures that’s it.

#

Sex is a thing that happens when they’re sober.

The freshmen draw lots for roommates when they move into the frat house at the end of their first year and Stiles isn’t sure what to think when he ends up sharing the room at the front of the third floor with Jackson. It’s the same room that has the window that leads out to the roof over the porch, the same room they snuck through a few months before.

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other since. They pledged together. They’ve partied together, had dinner together, hung out together. It’s part of being in the same fraternity.

But they haven’t talked about it.

And they don’t talk about it, not really. They don’t see each other until fall, when they start their sophomore year. They aren’t in the same classes, don’t see each other until late at night when they’re both buried in their books, Jackson trying to get through his pre-law program and Stiles up to his eyeballs in ancient mythology and classical Latin.

They’re both dead sober and exhausted and full of tension that needs to break somehow.

The first time is a quick jerk, trying not to look at each other as they both get off.

They second time Stiles just holds out his hand; he figures if they’re both doing it, why not help each other out.

By the end of October they’re fucking almost every night. It’s better than a primal scream, and they’re both doing well enough in class that people remark on their grades.

The sex is good.

They still don’t talk about it.

#

Jackson doesn’t believe in love.

It’s just chemicals, he says, or that’s what his ex-girlfriend told him. They dated for four years and Stiles can see how much it fucked Jackson up. He doesn’t trust anyone to stay with him. His parents abandoned him. His adoptive parents split up as soon as Jackson was out of the house; he barely sees either of them anymore. And the girl who claimed to love him for four years told him at the end that pheromones were all well and good, but she refused to give in to the stereotype of a girl languishing on one end of the country, daydreaming about a boy at school on the other end.

So when they lie in the big bed they made out of pushing their twin beds together, entwined and sweaty, aching and replete, Stiles doesn’t say a word. It’s just sex, after all, a moment of passion brought on by heightened hormones and a fantastic release of stress.

He wonders, sometimes, if Jackson doesn’t believe in _love_ , or just doesn’t believe it’s for him.

Jackson tells him plainly that if he ever falls in love, he’s going to marry that person.

_Falls in love again_ , Stiles thinks he means.

It doesn’t really matter, because the sex is good.

#

For three whole years, the sex is really, _really_ good.

#

It’s not like one of them says _lets move in together_.

It’s just that they’re both going to grad school, and they can’t live in the frat house as graduate students. Why should they bother trying to find another roommate when they already know they can get through the days without killing each other?

And if they get an apartment with just one bedroom, it’s all in the name of saving money. Jackson’s parents give him a monthly living allowance, and that will cover rent, and this way Stiles can foot the bill for food. They work it out and plan to cut corners. Things are going to be hard when all they’ve got for income is Stiles’s stipend once the summer semester starts, and Jackson’s allowance. But they figure they’ll make it work.

It’s only one month to graduation when they find the perfect place and start planning things out.

Stiles relaxes for the first time in months, because knowing that this one thing is going to be the same makes it easier to face the uncertainty of the future.

He doesn’t tell Jackson that he doesn’t know how to see a future without him in it. That sounds too much like _love_ , and if Jackson doesn’t believe in it, Stiles isn’t going to say it.

Even if he thinks it.

#

On the night before graduation, there’s a party at the house. It’s brilliant, huge, and Jackson is thoroughly and completely drunk. Stiles, on the other hand, is dead sober, staring down the future and unwilling to look at it through alcohol tinted lenses.

When they run out of beer, Stiles offers to get more, but the Jeep won’t start. Because of course, the first day of the rest of his life has to begin with the expense of car repairs. He storms back into the house, frustrated and angry.

Jackson puts a hand on the back of his neck, leans in close for a long moment. He breathes, and Stiles breathes, and it helps center him and calm his mind. When Jackson presses something into Stiles’s hand, he doesn’t realize what it is at first.

Keys.

Jackson’s car keys.

He can’t quite breathe as he stares at Jackson, who waves him off, making a face like it’s no big deal when it is a very, _very_ big deal. Jackson doesn’t let anyone ever drive the Porsche, not even under threat of death or in an emergency. Stiles has seen Jackson refuse more requests to drive the Porsche, including more than he can count from himself at various times over the last three years.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all, simply goes to run the errand, driving the fucking _Porsche_.

#

Stiles holds onto the keys until they are back in their room—their last night in the room they have shared for three years in the frat house. In the morning they will graduate, then bring the last few things over to their new apartment. Tonight, though, they curl together in the makeshift bed, the keys nearby on the nightstand where Stiles dropped them before he stripped for bed.

He rolls away long enough to grab them, then brings them back, dropping them on Jackson’s chest and holding them there, right over the beat of his heart. Stiles has thought long and hard about what the right response is to _you can drive my Porsche_ , and he’s pretty sure he’s figured it out.

_I love you too_.

He whispers the words into Jackson’s skin, presses them with kisses to the line of his jaw and the slope of his neck. Tastes the way he arches in response, feels the way their fingers tangle together, pressed against his speeding heartbeat. When Stiles pulls back, Jackson is staring at him, expression naked and afraid but almost masked with the cocky attitude that has gotten him through college.

_Don’t think this means I’m going to marry you_.

Stiles smiles and lets the topic go, surging over him and into the kiss, dropping the keys back on the nightstand, forgotten in the pleasures of really good, comfortable, _familiar_ sex.

Jackson doesn’t need to say the words. Stiles knows what he means with every touch and action, and Stiles tries to respond the same way.

This is love, Stiles is sure of it.

This is forever.

#

They get married in the summertime, standing under the big oak outside the fraternity house, their classmates and brothers in attendance along with wives, small children, and a few dogs. They say they will write their own vows, but in the end, it is simply a conversation held in earnest in front of witnesses, a series of confessions and promises spoken clearly for all to hear.

#

_You said you didn’t believe in love, then you let me drive the Porsche._

_You said you didn’t believe in marriage, but when you found love, you would marry that person._

_You said it was nothing more than sex, and yet, here we are._

_I love you, Jackson Whittemore, and I will do so until I die, and then beyond._

_#_

_You kissed me when I least expected it._

_You stayed when I thought you would go._

_You trusted me when I gave you no reason to, and when I trusted you, you didn’t take advantage of it._

_I love you, Stiles Stilinski, and I will marry you to prove it, and stay by your side until we’re both gone._

#

The top of the wedding cake is decorated with a Porsche and a Jeep, and no groomsman, which is much like the wedding reception itself, where the grooms are also very much absent.

No one tries to find them, and Stiles is thankful for that, as he doesn’t care about the dancing, or the cake, or the food. All he wants to do is sit on the roof of the porch and stare at the moon, and listen to his husband whisper _I love you_. And maybe explore each other’s tonsils again. For nostalgia’s sake.

And yeah, the sex is still good, too.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the [original post on tumblr here](http://tryslora.tumblr.com/post/101643821047/drive-my-porsche-means-i-love-you). Or come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and say hi!


End file.
